


Old School

by sugarspuncoeurls



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Female Character of Color, Fluff, Humor, Sensuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 02:52:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5358257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarspuncoeurls/pseuds/sugarspuncoeurls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After two weeks of indulgent shore leave, Kaidan needs to shave his baby black bear of a beard. He also wants Shepard to help. She does. Kind of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old School

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Oh, look, more fluff! 5000 words of it, cuz I have no chill and no clue how to do drabbles. Oh, well, maybe next time. Please enjoy and thanks for reading!
> 
> Warning(s): Fluff, language, and some sensuality and innuendo.

“That’s a lot of hair you got on your face, Major.”

Kaidan pauses, the spatula in his hand stopping just short of flipping a piece of French toast, and looks over his shoulder at the woman draped across the kitchen island, her head lazily cradled in her hand as she watches him with an equally lazy smile. He smirks, one of his brows inching upward.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your face,” Shepard reiterates, her other hand coming up and making a gesture that somehow imitates the thick black hair covering his chin, jaw, and cheeks. “There’s a lotta hair on it.”

Reflexively, Kaidan lifts his own free hand and runs it experimentally over his week-old stubble. Well, he admits, ‘stubble’ isn’t really the word for it anymore. ‘Beard’ might honestly be more accurate at this point. Dropping his hand, his smirk widens. “And you’re mentioning this because…”

Shepard shrugs, her nightshirt sliding off one dark sienna shoulder. “Just thought I would.”

Kaidan blinks, narrows his eyes in a slight, playful manner, then blinks again. “Thanks,” he settles for, and turns back to his cooking.

“You’re welcome.” Even with his back turned, he knows there’s a grin coming to her face. “Making the most of your leave, huh.”

Sliding the last piece of toast onto the plate, Kaidan turns again to place it on the island with the other food already laid out. He smiles, touching his stubbly beard again. “I guess you could say that.” It’s not every day he gets to relax enough to forgo shaving, so he supposes it makes sense that, like all the other things he indulges in during shore leave, he would indulge here, too. He looks at Shepard. “Sure there’s not a reason you’re mentioning it?”

She’s still smiling at him with that little grin, her lips parted just enough to reveal the large gap between her two front teeth. She woke around an hour after he left the warm confines of the bed, little more than ten minutes ago, and it shows in the flop of her body on the bar stool she sits on, in the curlicue strands of hair grazing her brow from the afro sprouting high off her head.

Lieutenant-Commander Neo Devonne Shepard: Butcher of Torfan, First Human Spectre, Savior of the Citadel, Savior of the _Galaxy_ , and Charming Live-In Fiancée.

He doesn’t remember ever seeing that last one on the long list of her credentials. He feels like it should be included.

“None,” she answers, shrugging again. Her nightshirt slides further off her shoulder. “But I _am_ looking forward to seeing how far you’re gonna take it.”

“You and me both,” he answers, gazing down at his early-morning handiwork. He sighs a tiny bit to himself; he always ends up making too much food, it seems. Sure, it gets eaten – his biotics and her not-so-biotics guarantee it – but it always looks a tad overwhelming to turn the stove off and realize he’s made seven different things, all catering to their particular tastes. Even the other members of their small family are taken care of. Just to the left of Shepard’s elbow sits Captain, her tiny hamster’s body perched in a small bowl of freshly-washed and peeled grapes. Her pink paws hold one carefully aloft as she gradually devours it, her whiskers dancing with the enthusiastic movement of her cheeks. On the floor next to the island is Urz, unseen but clearly close-by if the powerful smacking of her jaws as she eats her breakfast of raw beef is any indication.

Yeah, he’s had a busy morning. But like the hair coating his face, he does it for a reason. Shore leave – and the occasional open weekend – are the only times he can do things like this, enjoy the mundane thrill of waking up to a sunlit morning with someone by his side and knowing he doesn’t have to get up right away. It makes him want to go the extra mile, he supposes, to do the most he can with the time he has. He also supposes that’s how he’s _always_ been, how he’ll probably always _be_. And he supposes that, so long as it doesn’t trouble those around him, there’s no real point in breaking the pattern.

And today, the pattern dictates that he cook a buffet of a breakfast and let his facial hair run wild.

“So it shall be,” he determines aloud, and smiles at the confused look Shepard gives him. “Thinking to myself,” he explains, then showcases their waiting breakfast with a sweeping arm. “What’ll you have?” 

* * *

 A shave.

He thinks it’s about time he got one. Two weeks has thickened the hair on his face into something his grandfather would be proud of. Which is saying something, considering his strongest memories of the man encompassed less the man himself and more the black bear of hair that perpetually hugged on his face. _His_ beard hasn’t reached that point yet, but he’s convinced he should do something before it does.

Kaidan sighs patiently to himself as he stands in the bathroom and breathes in to absorb the feel of another early, indulgent morning. This one, though, doesn’t have him cooking over a stove, washing grapes, or cutting up raw beef. Those are good mornings too, of course, mornings he wishes he could have far more often.

No, this morning, this _kind_ of morning, is good for a whole different set of reasons. Or at least, it was.

He thinks it’s about time he got a shave.             

“Hey.” A call from over his shoulder, and Kaidan looks away from his reflection to see Shepard in the doorway. She smiles at him, her hands folded loosely over her chest. “You alright?” He smiles back and nods. “Sure?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Kay.” She comes further into the room, a slow, exaggerated trek to his side. “Sorry about the laughing.”

Kaidan smirks and returns to his reflection. “Uh-huh.”

“I have sensitive thighs, and all that hair tickles.” She shrugs. “Can’t help it if the giggles wanna start up.”

“No,” he says, chuckling again, “I guess you can’t.”

“Right. So…” She stands at his elbow, her head finding his upper arm and her fingers lacing with his own. “You gonna shave it?”

“Yeah, I am.” He says it with a sigh, strokes his hand again over his chin and jaw. He looks down at her. “Wanna help me?”

“Shave your face?” Shepard lifts her hand and tilts his head to and fro, her wide lips pursed thoughtfully. “Do you _need_ help with something like that?”

“No. But I remember Ma doing it for Dad sometimes.” He shrugs. “They seemed to enjoy it.” Shepard grins.

“Was it a casual intimacy thing or a foreplay thing?”

He gives her an amused look. “I was seven. I didn’t ask.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She moves her fingers over his face a second time and scratches at his chin. “Okay, I’ll help. Whaddya need?”

Stepping away, Kaidan goes for one of the cabinets. “A towel, a razor, water, and shaving cream.”

“Ah.” She nods, then narrows her eyes. “Shaving cream? They still make that stuff?”

Coming out of the cabinet with a compact can in hand, Kaidan shakes it in emphasis. “Yep.”

Shepard lifts an eyebrow. “This is another one of your little old school quirks, isn’t it?”

A small, manual, single-bladed razor joins the cream on the counter. “Yep.”

“Fantastic.”

* * *

It really is. Fantastic, that is.

It’s still mid-morning, around 8:30 if he had to guess. Sunlight streams through the bathroom window and creates textured spots along the tiled floor and Shepard’s powder-blue nightshirt. She sits before him on the counter, her knees bracketing his boxer-clad hips and his hands bracketing hers, her toothpaste-scented breath puffing over his mouth as she raps under her breath to some little ditty. The only sound to be heard barring her voice is the steady rasp of the razor on his skin as she slowly – _so_ slowly – removes the hair from the line of his jaw.

It’s good, better than he thought it’d be, and he’d be lying if he said his body wasn’t in agreement.

“Y’know, I actually kinda like this,” Shepard begins, momentarily pausing her acapella. She does a cursory overlook of her work. Kaidan takes the chance to smile.

“You didn’t think you would?” She shrugs.

“Well, no. It’s hair. On your face.” She shrugs again. “Not to dig, but how interesting can it be?”

“Point taken.”

“I mean, if it was your whole body? Maybe. You’ve got a lot of hair in a lot of places. We could make a game out of it or something.”

“Sounds like a good time for everybody.”

“Right, but just your face? Cute location, not all that exciting.” She blinks. “To shave, I mean.”

Kaidan laughs, taking the razor from her hands to dunk it into the water they’ve stoppered in the sink. He rinses the blade of excess foam, then hands it back to her. “So. What makes you like it?”

“Mmm…” She absently twirls the blade around her fingers. “That it’s…quaint? Cute in an old-fashioned way.” She grins and taps his still-hairy chin. “The exact kinda thing _you’d_ be into.”

“Thanks for indulging me.”

“It’s not hard to. You’re ridiculously easy to please.” Her thighs briefly squeeze at his hips as she brings the razor back to his face. “Fresh air, a big, rib-sticking breakfast, good coffee, and someone to shave your whiskers. The Major Morning Special.”

He can’t argue with that. If there’s any surefire way to get on his good side, that’s it. He hums, conscious of the movement of his mouth as she gets at the hair above his upper lip. “Not very picky, am I.”

Shepard looks at him teasingly. “Comes with age, I hear. How old did you just turn?”

He smirks. “Sixty-five.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Thanks, hon.”

She lets out a snicker. “Sorry. S’not like I’m any better, anyway. What’s _my_ morning special?”

“People who consistently get up at noon don’t _have_ a morning special.” There’s a reason he usually finishes up his breakfast prep long before she ever shows her face. Last week was an exception more than it was the norm. It makes sense, when he thinks about it; save the galaxy a few times, the least you should be able to do is sleep in, your boyfriend’s breakfast plans be damned.

Still, he likes the way Shepard purses her lips at his answer, just short of a pout and clearly dissatisfied. “Hypothetically, then,” she insists. He pretends to think; as if he doesn’t already know.

“If you _were_ a morning person, I say you’d want juice first thing, the tarter the better to help wake you up. Savory breakfast with eggs, probably an omelet with a million things inside. Either music or a vid playing in the background while you eat, because you need noise and the birds aren’t loud enough.” He smirks. “And sex, either before eating or after.”

Shepard blinks, pauses on a downward stroke, then continues with a high whistle. “Well, _damn_. Why haven’t I gotten this yet?”

“Hypothetical, remember? You have to get up if I’m actually going to do it for you.”

“Then fix it to match me. Make it an afternoon special instead.”

Kaidan narrows his eyes, though his smirk remains. “You want me to twist _my_ schedule around so _you_ can keep being lazy.”

She shrugs. “You’ve done more. At least you’d get sex and a meal out of it.”

He has to admit there’s a temptation there, curling low in his gut. But… “I think I’ve got a better idea.” Lowering Shepard’s hand from his face, he leans on the counter until he’s close enough to touch his nose to the round tip of hers. “If you get up with me, drink your juice, and help me make your omelet, I promise to make the hours you’d have spent sleeping worth your while.”

Shepard’s lips purse again. No denying the pout this time, though she does perk up a little with interest. “Maybe I’d be more willing to do it if your alarm wasn’t set for the asscrack o’ dawn.”

“Gotta make the most of the day. You’ve never heard of the early bird getting the worm?”

Her nose scrunches, her head tilting, making their noses rub together. “Please tell me that’s not a metaphor for your dick.”

It’s not, obviously, but he so enjoys her interpretations of his “Earthisms” (her term for his sometimes-outdated sayings) that he doesn’t bother to say so. Leaning against her, supported by the solid marble of the sink, it’s easy to squeeze those last couple centimeters out from between them as his laugh rasps into the air. “That’s seriously gross, babe,” she insists, shaking her head. He laughs again, his palm rising to cup her cheek.

“And all for you,” he huffs against her lips.

She’s right; he does get up too early. Far back as he can tell, he always has. Before the Alliance, before Brain Camp, back when he was short and skinny-legged and hadn’t yet figured out how to get his head of curls to cooperate, he used to wake up just a couple hours after dawn. Sometimes it was so he could tinker with his tech sets, sometimes it was so he could read the old comic books his great-aunt gave him for his birthday. And sometimes, it was to sneak to the bathroom and watch his father’s morning routine, especially the moment he took out that razor and shaving cream.

He guesses that’s where he got the desire to learn it himself. He grew up at the beginning of the transition, the major shift in the way humanity did, well, _everything_. Nearly overnight, his old tech sets became obsolete, and everything he’d prided himself on learning about the science of the world became moot. Too fast, it seemed, a lot of the time; he could only imagine how it affected the adults around him, those who grew still believing aliens were a far-off myth.

Which is why he thinks it meant so much when he woke up the day after the first Alliance representatives landed on Palaven after the war to find his father at the mirror as always, using that manual razor with the lower half of his face covered in shaving cream. That was the day he decided he wanted to learn, the day he really started listening to his grandmother’s stories about the past, and the day he started putting just as much value in the old as in the new.

Thirty years later, he’s still doing it. This’s a routine he’s done a thousand times now, taking the blade to his face. But this, with Shepard, is untouched territory. However mundane it seems, it means something that he can share this with her, this strange dichotomy he’s got going. Despite having only a handful of years between them, they exist at the two extremes of history: the Earth boy looking for the final frontier, and the star girl living it. To offer her a taste of himself, just as he’s been given so many tastes of _her_ while out there in the big beyond, well, it makes this whole thing mean more than he’s sure he’s letting on.

And hell, _this_ makes it even better, this embrace of warm touches and wet kisses, of legs wrapped around his waist and fingers impressed into his skin. Shepard’s voice in his ear, low and hoarse in that way it so beautifully is, and getting closer and closer to that quality of _lost_ that only ever means good, good things.

He _might’ve_ had a feeling something like this would happen. Inevitably, on one of those many mornings he trotted to the bathroom, he found his father already with company, heard the low rumble of his voice mixed with his ma’s, the intimate murmur of “qīn'ài de,” and quietly made his way back to his room. He was old enough then to understand that some mornings were meant for a different kind of family bonding, and old as he is now, feeling the squeeze of Shepard’s hands on his shoulders and tasting her lips and hearing her make the most a _ma_ zing sound, he can appreciate the sentiment, enough to ignore the shaving cream slowly smearing on his jaw and the razor still in her hand and the fact that he probably looks a bit like Two-Face from his comics.

Enough to _almost_ not notice the moment the blade gets too close. Focused on Shepard’s nightshirt and what’s underneath it, a half-dozen textures of scarred skin and welcoming heat, it makes itself known as a single tiny point of cold against his cheek. He lifts a hand to take and move it away again, right as Shepard hits the next stage in their play. She goes to toss her arms about his neck as she leans back against the double-width mirror at her back, and in a second of abandon, the razor manages to slice a clean line into the skin of his cheek. He grunts once into her mouth, then pulls away to let out a pained hiss when the cream makes its way into the wound and sets it to stinging.

 _Ow_.

Shepard’s still happily dazed when she opens her eyes to see why he’s stopped their fun; like one of her bagels fresh out of the toaster, she catches sight of the blood sliding like a thin curtain down the side of his face and springs. “Shit!” She notices the razor in her hand, stained a telling crimson. “Shit!” She reaches out with wary fingers and dabs at his cheek. “ _Shit!_ ”

“Sweetheart, it’s fine,” he says, grinning as he swipes his thumb over his jaw to clear away the bloody foam and check the damage. “It’s just a scratch.”

“A scratch I put on you cuz I forgot about the fucking _weapon_ in my hand!” She snubs herself with a bop to her forehead, her eyes wide with apology. “Sorry. I should know by now not to hold sharp things when I’m horny. It only leads to trouble.” With that, she gently pushes him back from the counter so she can hop off, her bare feet taking her out the bathroom.

“Where’re you going?” Kaidan asks to her distancing steps, amused at her statement as he examines his red-tinged reflection now that her hair isn’t taking up the mirror’s entirety (an exaggeration, though not much of one).

“To get the kit,” she calls back. Kaidan frowns.

“It’s in here, isn’t it?”

“Nah, I used it yesterday and forgot to put it back.”

He raises his brows in concern. “Why’d you need it? Were you hurt?”

A questioning pause, and then her voice sounds from the direction of the bedroom. “No. I was just…playing.”

One brow drops in relief. The other stays raised in a show of suspicion as he continues examining his cut. “Should I be worried?”

“…not this time.”

He chuckles. _Bored_ , he thinks. Shepard’s been semi-retired for a matter of months now, after turning down a long-overdue promotion to Captain, and he’d wondered when (not if) the restlessness would set in. She’s too active, loves to _move_ and _do_ too much to sit around an apartment day in and day out, even with company. Kaidan swipes another finger through the blood sheeting his cheek. Maybe he’ll be able to convince her to join him on his next off-world assignment, give her a reminiscent taste of the life he knew she honestly loved, now that the Reapers are solidly out of the picture. And before she decides to burn the apartment to the ground.

“Okay, got the stuff.” Shepard returns, a bottle of antiseptic spray in her hand. She winces when she sees him. “Still bleeding?”

“I guess you got me better than we thought,” he answers. One more swipe that he rinses into the sink before turning to face her, his eyes looking to see her find before he bursts out a laugh. “God. Sorry.” At her look of confusion, he reaches down and fingers at the cream dotting her cheeks and chin, stark white against deep brown, a clear sign of their fooling around he didn’t notice before. He shows her his hand.

“Oh,” she says. “Yeah, I felt it when it got on me.”

“It didn’t bother you?” She shrugs.

“Figured there were more important things goin’ on. We’ve been messier. And dirtier.”

True. Still, he takes one of the disposable paper towels off the side of the sink and wets it before gently wiping at her face. “Only one of us needs a shave today.”

“That and stitches.”

“It’s not that serious.”

“How do you know?”

“Who’s the trained medic?” He takes the initiative to wipe away the remainder of the cream on his own face before throwing the paper towel away. Shepard – cheeks now clean – sets the antiseptic on the counter.

“Good point. Guess you should be doing this, then.”

“You’re not gonna help?”

“The last time I ‘helped’ you, you got your face carved open.” Kaidan grins, grabbing the spray.

“An accident. That _I_ started, if memory serves.” He applies a quick stinging spray over the length of the cut, then looks around for their personal stash of medi-gel, a monthly gift from Chakwas, “because even in peacetime, soldiers will be soldiers, and the Commander will be the Commander.” When he doesn’t find it in its usual place, he turns to Shepard, who holds a tube out to him with a half-sheepish smile. “Playing,” she says again. He takes the tube, keeping his face purposefully neutral.

Oh, yeah, she’s definitely joining him on his next assignment.

With a squeeze of the tube, Kaidan pipes a thin line of gel over the cut. Strange to do it without aid from his prized omnitool, but then, today _has_ been a bit of a celebration of the old-fashioned and outdated. Somehow, the simple application of the gel with his fingers seems appropriate. And nice, when Shepard comes behind him and makes sure it’s well-spread, her touch feather-light. He examines their handiwork and nods satisfactorily. “Good as new.” He smiles when Shepard grabs his jaw to check herself. She nods as well.

“‘Cept now you’re stuck with two-third’s a beard.”

He thinks. He’d rather not walk around with half a face full of hair, which means there’s really only one option. “Start again?”

“Same as before?” Shepard crosses her arms over her small chest and looks out the frosted glass window; the sun’s shining a bit brighter, though it’s definitely still morning. She clicks her tongue, then looks back at him. “Only if we do something different.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “What did you have in mind?”

With a wink and a half-second of warning, she reaches out and loudly _snaps_ the band of his boxers against his hip. “Guess.”

* * *

She’s rapping again. Similar rhythm, different ditty. Her voice is still the loudest thing in the room, is once again accompanied by the gentle scrape of a razor blade over his skin. Her breath still fans over his neck.

This time, though, there’s a different sensation of air competing with the warmth of hers. Steam, wafting up from the water languidly lapping his chest.

Shepard chuckles. “You seem happy, Major.”

His eyes are closed. He keeps them so, and answers in the only way he has the strength to. “ _Mmmmm_.”

A bath. That was her plan, her “something different.”

Fucking brilliant.

“Tell me we can stay like this,” he murmurs, his head falling on the back lip of the tub as the blade reaches the underside of his jaw. “Tell me we don’t have to move.” Shepard hums.

“We can stay all day so long as you’re okay with pruny fingers.”

“Perfect.” He shifts his knees under the water, tries not to jostle too much. Shepard’s seated herself on his legs, her thighs cushioning his hips, much like earlier. Bare wet skin on skin, and it feels just as wonderful as all the other times they’ve done this, though the addition of their rustic shaving kit is new. As Kaidan settles, a sigh releasing from his lips as he does, Shepard snickers.

“Don’t get too comfortable, alright? I’m running out of hair.”

“How much left?” He honestly hasn’t been paying attention.

“Unless you want me going for your eyebrows? ‘Bout fifteen minutes’ worth.” She lightly smacks his hand away when he goes to feel for himself, the water making waves with her movements. “Nah-ah! You’ll ruin it.”

“Ruin what?” he chuckles.

“I want it to be a surprise. First time, y’know?”

“You don’t think we’ve had enough surprises today?”

“A _good_ surprise,” she corrects, and Kaidan ultimately concedes, his hand falling to join the other holding her waist. As her spoken rhyme takes over again and his eyes slide shut once more, he strokes at her skin, gentle figure-eights that just barely skim the hard edges of her abdominals. She’s a touch softer these days, a bit fuller in the face and body. His Earth food, she says it is, all meats and cheeses and desserts she can’t seem to resist even though she doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth. As if he has control over her midnight runs to the fridge. The blame he gets isn’t so bad, though, if it means he can enjoy the result, run the roughened pads of his fingers over her back and along her sides and feel that subtle difference. It won’t last. Eventually, she _will_ find her way back to the field again, and when she does, her core will retighten, her arms and legs will harden, and she’ll return to being the one-woman army he so loves to see her be.

Until then, he’s more than happy to appreciate this, a Shepard whose only sharpness is in the square cut of her jaw and the old-school razor blade in her hand.

“You’re pokin’ me, Major.”

Kaidan opens his eyes, blinks, and sees Shepard gazing up at him with her wide mouth twisted in a humored smile, the razor tightly secured in her grip. He smirks; no real point in denying it, not with her _right there_ where it’s most obvious. “Sorry.”

She grins harder, spinning the blade around her fingers. “Are you really?”

No, but the playfulness in her eyes tells him she already knows that. She shrugs and leans in to continue her work, though she keeps meeting his gaze as she does, her smile never leaving her lips. She shifts her position in his lap just enough to brush him under the water, and he sucks in a quiet breath through his nose, shivering at the sensation. When she does it again, this time with a slow, insistent slide over his thighs, and again, and again, and again, a handful of minutes in-between each go, he finally grabs her hips to stop her, smirking as his eyebrow rises. “Think we should at least let the first injury heal before going for the second?”

“No need,” she replies. With a quick, light stroke along the curve of his chin and a final spin of the razor around her fingers, she smugly sits back. “I’m done.”

He lifts both eyebrows this time. “Really?” With a bit of reluctant at leaving their cocoon of heat, Kaidan braces his hands on the sides of the tub and lifts himself up and out of the water, grabbing hold of Shepard’s hand to help her over the lip (and ensure they don’t slip) before following her to the counter and mirror. He can already see the result of her efforts before he leans in to get a good look: smooth skin, free of the thick black forest it was under. Minimal bumps; she’s done better than he did _his_ first time. Shepard stands next to him, waiting for his verdict. He grins, leans down, and plants a firm kiss to her forehead. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“There were a few touchy spots. Might not’ve gotten those as well as I wanted.” Still, she smooths her hand over his jaw, happy with what she’s accomplished. “Niiiice.” He chuckles.

“No tickle?”

“Or giggles. It’s a miracle.” She steps back. “Anything else you wanna take care of? Your chest? Your legs?” She deliberately looks down. “Our eager friend?”

Kaidan walks to the cabinet to grab a large towel to dry off, resisting the urge to take her hint and get them immediately back to bed. Unfolding the cloth, he drapes it over her shoulders and starts rubbing. “Eventually,” he says. “Hungry?”

“Little bit.” She puts her hand on his jaw, scratching the underside at one tiny, surviving patch of hair. “Kinda miss the beard,” she says. Kaidan smiles and taps her nose.

“Little late to be saying so, hon.” She shrugs.

“Don’t know whatchu got ‘til it’s gone. Silly me.”

With a final pat-down to her legs, he takes the towel back to (carefully) dry himself. “On my next leave, I’ll grow it out again. Just for you.”

“And then shave it again? With my help?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Good.” She watches him as he wipes over the sink and counter and puts everything back in its place. When their eyes meet, she grins. “I think old school works for us.”

Kaidan tosses the towel over a rack, warming at her words. _Thanks for the lesson, Dad._ He goes to her, his arm wrapping snug around her shoulders as they exit the bathroom. “As casual intimacy or as foreplay?” Shepard laughs at the tease.

“Both. _Definitely_ both.”


End file.
